Move
by Bryon Nightshade
Summary: When all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. When all you have is a buster, every problem looks like a target. And when all you have is the law, every problem looks like a Maverick. Except that's absurd- and X will have to face up to that absurdity in a world made rigid by fear.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Mega Man and its characters and situations are copyright Capcom._

* * *

The manager shut the door behind him.

Ugh.

He brought a hand to his face and rubbed his nose where his glasses usually sat. He hadn't been wearing them, but it was his instinct when he had a headache like this. Not that it'd help. This was an entirely different kind of headache.

"Well, boss?"

The manager looked up. Some of the faces around him were expectant. Others were full of dread. The manager was paralyzed by their eyes. He wanted to disappear. He wanted someone else to make this decision for him. He wanted someone to tell him what to do.

No one did.

He sighed. There was nothing for it. Nothing else to be done. "Well," he said, "I suppose we'd better call the Hunters."

* * *

Zero couldn't keep the smile off of his face.

He was aware of it, and of how different it was, how no one else would be smiling in this place. He didn't care. He was alone, and he was in an armory. That was enough to make him smile.

His fingers traced over the plasma buster with what was almost a loving caress- the closest he'd ever come to that sort of gesture, at least. Gniesen-Markovich model 401. It had taken less than a year to go from the drawing board to full production; the Maverick Wars were a very insistent demand signal. Changes to the model 400's cowling improved heat dissipation, allowing the designers to add a few more joules to its top-end yield. That weighed down the front end, so they'd increased the density of the stock. This kept the balance and the feel the same as for the 400. If burst firepower was the priority and the extra weight wasn't a problem, the 401 was the buster you'd choose.

Not that Zero was ever likely to use one in anger. His own weapons were much better- neither Gniesen nor Markovich had anything on Zero's mystery builder. He had no reason to use a 401 over a Z-buster. But he *could*, if he wanted to, and soon he'd know how. He'd know this weapon inside and out. That made him feel good. And, if someone ever tried to use one of these against him, he'd know it better than its wielder. That made him feel better.

His smile widened as he began to strip the weapon.

He was two minutes in when the door opened. The smile fell from Zero's face.

"Sir."

Rekir, then- Zero's unspectacular but pragmatic second-in-command. Still formal after a year of working with Zero. That was best, or at least what Zero preferred. Not that Zero would stop what he was doing for Rekir's sake.

"There's a Hunt."

Okay, he'd stop for that. Putting the components of the 401 down, Zero turned to his subordinate. Rekir handed him a data pad. Zero frowned in disapproval as his eyes scanned over it.

Really? That was *it*?

"I'm not going," Zero said in disgust.

Rekir blanched. "You can't just... refuse a hunt. We're the Maverick Hunters!"

"You go, then," said Zero, pushing the data pad into Rekir's chest. "You can more than handle this."

"Let me get this straight," said Rekir carefully. "You, Zero, are refusing combat."

"This isn't combat," Zero said with disdain. "This is..." A circuit that usually didn't work flickered to life, sparked fitfully, and died again- but not before an idea worked its way into Zero's battered consciousness. "This is something for X. Yeah... Give it to X."

"Sir?"

"This mission," Zero said, gesturing at the data pad. "Give it to X and the Seventeenth Squad. He's the better person to deal with this sort of thing. He might even enjoy it."

And, his business with Rekir concluded, he went back to work on the 401.

After a beat, Rekir shrugged his shoulders resignedly. "Sure thing, boss. Whatever you say." He left without another word.

Zero's hands drifted to a stop. He felt unnerved, disoriented, like he did when someone asked him to remember something he couldn't. Things made less sense, now. The world was a little less understandable. He looked at the 401. Why was he doing this, again? It was pointless. He'd never use something like this. The act brought him no more pleasure.

Zero's eyes alighted on another of the lockers in the armory.

Explosives, on the other hand...

He smiled.

* * *

"This is Maria Pritchard, ACTV. I'm on-scene at Hutchinson's Electronics, where we have a report of Maverick activity. So far we haven't seen or heard any fighting. No weapons fire, no explosions, no physical damage of any kind. That doesn't mean there hasn't been any, but it appears to be confined to the inside of the building. There's a combined police-Hunter cordon outside Hutchinson's which is keeping us away, but we'll stay alert for any more news about this incident."

"Thank you, Maria. Now let's go back to the studio, where we have..."

Dropping her microphone, Maria swore. This was her audience, damn it, and they cut away? She was where the action was, in the thick of it, right where she belonged. Nothing that was going on in the studio could be more important than this. It was almost like management didn't like ratings.

She scowled as she saw the vans for Channel 6 Eyewitness News and Channel 4 Action News approach. It was as if they followed her, she thought sourly. That was the only explanation for how they were always nipping on her heels, always just a step behind.

She had to stay ahead. Her report needed more. More of everything. More drama, more stakes... both to get the station's attention and to beat out her copycats. Human casualties- that always got a reaction. If she could get the scoop on them, the spotlight would be hers once more. Maria pressed towards the cordon.

People were still filing out of Hutchinson's. Maria worked her way as close as she could. "Excuse me!" she shouted, reaching past a policeman's arm. "Has everyone gotten away? Is everyone okay?"

The startled employee opened his mouth to talk, but the policeman whirled on Maria first. "Come on, lady, you know the drill," he said, pushing the microphone down. "We don't discuss Maverick activity while the incident's live." Recognition flashed in his eyes. "Oh, I know you. You know better for damn sure. You've already got everything you're gonna get 'till this one's over."

Maria stubbornly held her ground. "The people have a right to know."

"Bullshit." The cop pointed over her shoulder. "Go on back! Opsec trumps freedom of the press and you know it. Don't be a danger to this operation. I don't wanna have to take your mic."

Maria grimaced as she retreated. Operations security- ha! The cops and the Hunters were always coming up with reasons not to tell people things. But people wanted to know. Opsec didn't get anyone any ratings. Beating it did.

She moved casually along the perimeter. Luckily most of the cops were focused inwards on the evacuees. Presumably they were all employees- maybe she could get a count, check it against how many people worked there? She tried to count heads twice, and twice she lost it. Too much movement, too much in the way. No, that would have to wait until things settled down.

The crowd around was getting dense. Passersby were stopping at the perimeter and trying to see inside. Free entertainment for the street crowd. From Maria's perspective, that was tantamount to stealing.

The crowd was slowing down traffic- all traffic, both directions, including... Ah, was that a second Hunter van? No markings more specific than the Hunter crest, of course, but it was still interesting that they were calling in this much firepower. Maybe if she could-

She caught a glimpse of baby blue.

That was a unique color in the Hunters. Possibly unique amongst reploids. That was X.

She shifted around, trying to get a good look. Yes, there was no doubt about it. He was shorter than the cops and Hunters around him, but she could see just enough of the color and outline to be sure.

She dashed back towards the van. The news report practically wrote itself. _The Maverick or Mavericks must be unusually strong, because the Hunters appear to have escalated the situation. The line Hunter unit that responded has called for reinforcements, and the elite 17th Squad has responded. Along with the 0th Squad, the 17th is the cream of the Hunters. Their squad leader is the world-famous hero Mega Man X, and he is on-site right now. So, while we can be sure that this Maverick must be a major threat, we can also rest easy that the Hunters have the firepower to deal with it. I recommend that everyone avoid the area within a full block of Hutchinson's, as we can expect a lot of collateral damage from this level of combat._

She glanced at the rival newsvans, which were still unpacking and coming online. Ha! Scooped them again. Sure, the other channels would watch her report and then parrot it, but she, Maria, would be first. Another win for her. And winning was what mattered.

* * *

"Master, the enemy has been found."

Stiles was on one knee before a robot body barely distinguishable from a corpse. The wiring through the neck was exposed, unprotected. Neither likeflesh nor plate covered the hands, which were almost skeletal. The right leg was shorn off at the knee; torn wires and jagged, broken metal protruded from the stump. A coarse blanket or shawl was draped over the torso, which was just as well. Stiles didn't want to see. The small part of the torso that was visible was lain open and strongly suggested "hack job".

Only the likeflesh-clad head showed any evidence of quality construction. That was the master's demand. "Square chin, beady eyes, warpaint like purple diamonds." Sigma wouldn't compromise on those.

The master wasn't looking at Stiles. He was looking at a monitor. Stiles glanced at it. A news report- human news, contemptible- was on-screen. The sound was barely audible. The video was odd, mostly the tops of human heads- and there, a robot's head, blue in color. Baby blue.

Sigma was sneering, not with arrogance but with hate. His fingers clicked together angrily. Stiles noticed the sound and was moved. "Master," he pleaded, "I can't bear to see you like this. Please let us move you to a better..."

"Nnnnnnnooo!" Sigma said. Sigma's head snapped to the side and stuck for a moment before normalizing. "I'd rather be crippled than let others think I'm average. Nnnnnormal. This clearly isn't my proper body. I'll stay like this until we've prepared one that's worthy of me."

"As soon as we can, master!" Stiles said, averting his eyes.

Sigma's voice was a gentle purr. "You've sacrificed much for me already, Stiles. Don't think I haven't noticed. That's why I allow you to see me... like this. Most reploids wouldn't understand what I am if they didn't see me in a grand form. You are one of the few who's worthy. You recognize me for what I am, even in this guise of weakness."

"Thank you, master," said Stiles through a choked throat.

"I trust you completely. That's why this mission... is yours."

Stiles' head popped up. "I thought the Green Cell..."

"They're not up to it. You know they're not. They waste their days pretending to be loyal. They have little time to practice... they're amateurs. None of them carries my mark. Do you really think they have a chance to accomplish this mission?"

"I suppose not," Stiles admitted.

"But you do."

"Yes," said Stiles, almost startled.

"You can do this. But it's dangerous, Stiles. If you accept, you probably won't return."

Stiles' hand clenched. "If I can do your will before I die, that's a life well-spent."

"Look at me, Stiles."

The Maverick managed to raise his head. Sigma's expression was critical, piercing, but then became compassionate. "You'll be a hero for this," Sigma promised. "The Mavericks will tell your story for all time."

Stiles' eyes watered; he dropped his gaze to hide them. "That's the most any of us could ask for."

"Then go. There's not much time. Destroy our enemy."

Stiles rose and walked back out of the hiding place, barely able to maintain his composure. He stalled in the doorway. He looked back to Sigma. Stiles' master was still lying there, trapped in that ruined shell of a body. His lip was curved in a silent sneer, directed at the monitor- or whatever was on it. He wasn't looking at Stiles.

'And why would he?' the Maverick thought. 'I'm already dead.'

The realization crashed through him and rocked him off of his feet. When it was gone he was left feeling light and content. It was... liberating.

He shut the door and walked quickly away. He had an appointment to keep with death, after all.

* * *

It was a door.

It didn't look like anything special. Mega Man X knew from doors; he'd seen more than his share, of all different shapes and sizes and thicknesses and makes. Most of them were locked against him- at least for a few moments. This one seemed... well, pretty typical. Closing his eyes, he pressed his fingers against the surface. Even as delicate sensors explored and probed, X heard voices behind him.

 _"What's he doing?"_

 _"That's right, you haven't seen him get like this before. We've got time for this mission, there's no hurry, so he's taking it slow. He's trying to make it perfect, since he has the time to set it up."_

 _"Oh... how?"_

Wooden door. Locked. Wedged. Braced. Solid enough to resist any casual push. Not solid enough to withstand X's weapons. By X's count, six of the nine he was carrying could punch through without much trouble, though a few would make things pretty messy.

 _"He tries to keep the craters and booms to a minimum. His and everyone else's, too."_

 _"Really? But... we're the Seventeenth. We've got the heaviest weapons in the Hunters. How does he minimize that?"_

 _"Rookie, you have nicely described the problem. Lotsa processor cycles been burned tryin' to answer that question."_

X stepped back, contemplated the door for a moment, and knocked.

 _"Did he really think that would work?"_

 _"Depends on what the definition of "work" is."_

 _"Uh... working would be getting the door open."_

 _"Sometimes ya don't have to. Just watch."_

X knocked a second time. A voice answered him. "Who is it?"

"X," he self-identified.

"Maverick Hunter X?"

X winced. "Yes," he said, pained.

"Wow. They really called in the big guns on little ol' me."

"They actually called in Zero, first," X supplied.

"Zero *and* X on my case. I'm... stunned. Someone must think I'm super-threatening."

"Someone," X agreed.

"Not you?" A sharp answer. The answer of someone who was paying attention.

"Or," X said, diverting, "it could have been an accident of bureaucracy. Maybe it was just our turns to Hunt."

"I don't know what I think about that. I wouldn't have asked for you or Zero, but now that you're here, well, that's the vindication I would have wanted."

"Vindication," X repeated. "As in proving to everyone that you're right?"

"Hm. I didn't think it was that unusual. Doesn't everyone think they're right?"

"What's your name?"

"Keillor."

 _"Ya see, he's got the whole room mapped by now."_

 _"Mapped?"_

 _"Yup."_

 _"How?"_

 _"Rust me if I know. We think it's gotta be some kinda sonar or something. That's why he keeps 'em talking. It lets us be really precise when we go in."_

 _"Oh... so he only has to take a few shots."_

 _"Now your circuits are firin'. A few shots from very heavy weapons can settle things in a hurry, if they hit. So he makes sure we hit. Beats a long, drawn-out firefight. And beats the paint off a chase."_

"Well, Keillor, are you familiar with cognitive dissonance?"

"Mmm... maybe, but I want to hear how you mean it."

"It's a disturbed, confused feeling. It's like when the ground vanishes out from under you, mentally speaking. You get it when your idea of the world doesn't match reality. When new data doesn't jive with the old." He sighed. "I'm guessing you don't know from music."

"No."

Too few did, X thought sadly. His children were starved for beauty. "Anyway, no one likes that feeling. We'll do anything to avoid it. We convince ourselves that we're right, even when we know we're wrong. So yes, everyone thinks they're right. That doesn't mean anything, though. It proves nothing."

 _"And now he's talkin' him down."_

 _"That... never works with Mavericks, I thought. They sure didn't cover it in training. They teach us, "Shoot first and live"."_

 _"Remember how I said it depends on how you define "works"? Yeah, okay, none of them ever surrender. But if the talkin' makes 'em question themselves a little, makes 'em doubt a little bit, makes 'em think twice, well, that's all the difference in the world. That's how you get to shoot first. They hesitate... and X don't."_

Keillor's voice was unperturbed. "Okay, so everyone thinks they're right. But I know I'm not wrong."

"Oh?" X said.

"Because I haven't done anything wrong."

"You believe that?"

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt."

"Then you wouldn't mind..." X paused. He turned to look back at his squadmates for the first time. "I'll need a perimeter. I want a strongpoint at the lobby. Work with the 6th Squad to link with the perimeter outside."

The rookie immediately started moving, per X's orders. It was the veteran who was motionless at first. "Really, sir? We're not going in?"

"I need to lay some groundwork," X replied. "I need a better understanding first."

"Oookay," the veteran said uneasily. Limbering his weapon, he brushed past the rookie.

 _"So, what now?"_

 _"Beats me. The pattern just got busted."_

 _"Uh... you mean like someone took a buster to it?"_

 _"It wasn't a joke, smart-alec."_

 _"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean it like..."_

The junior Hunters turned a corner and were soon out of earshot. Once X was sure he was alone, he knelt by the door. "As a representative of the Office of Reploid Relations, my word is as good as a human's to another reploid. In that capacity, I order you to open this door."

"I will not."

"I should warn you," X said, still in formal tones, "that this is an illegal act."

"No, it's a failure to act legally. And my non-action is a moral one."

X sighed. "So you think you've thought this all through."

"Of course."

"This," X said with a mixture of tiredness and officialdom, "constitutes a violation of the Second Law of Robotics."

"I know."

"So you meet the legal definition of Maverick."

"If you say so."

"But you don't say so," X said with a slight frown.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Maverick Hunter X, I have not hurt anyone. Nor will I. I'm dedicated to non-violence. My First Law gate is intact."

X rubbed his eyes. "That's unprovable short of taking you to a lab for a full cognitive scan. Hey, would you happen to be willing to submit to that?"

"No chance. I'm resisting you, now. I will not move."

That, X thought, is your crime. Just that. You won't move.

And in a world of Mavericks, it's a capital offense.

* * *

 _Author's note: "Move" will return March 21._


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles rocked on his heels, back and forth. Rusted amateurs, they were blowing the whole job! Taking so long to get online...

He hadn't contacted Green Cell. He wouldn't have known how, or who. Compartmentalization. No one in Green Cell would recognize him, either. As it should be. No one could betray anyone else.

Stiles did have expectations on what they'd do. They'd have to commit the whole rusted cell to pull it off, and even then, the odds weren't great. Two units of Hunters! Much more than expected.

Self-consciously, Stiles glanced around. His disguise was extremely flimsy, just a reflective vest like they used at construction sites. It was holding for now, but only because everyone was still focusing _in_ instead of _out_.

A policeman's gaze swept across Stiles. He tried to act busy. Immediately (and silently) he swore. Lugnuts, act _more_ suspicious, why don't you? When he felt the eyes move away, he shifted to a greater distance and started surveilling again.

The target was inside. Two units of Hunters- eight fighters, then- were on the outside. Too many to fight through, especially when they could sit back on defense. The standard Maverick tactic here was to attack a soft target just out of range or out of sight. That would compel the flesh-lovers to leave their defensive positions- no Hunter with his gates intact could let a slaughter happen in front of him. Once the Hunters left the building exposed, a small team could infiltrate the building to eliminate the target.

Standard tactics, of course, were for when standard conditions applied. This kind of numbers disadvantage wasn't standard. The Mavericks did their best work when they attacked where the Hunters weren't. Going head-to-head like this, against an organization that was trained and equipped to win head-to-head fights...

They needed to do something to even the odds. Would that even occur to Green Cell? Probably not. Even if Stiles didn't know who they were, exactly, he knew the type. Amateurs. Pretenders. New recruits that joined the Mavericks more out of frustration with the status quo than true conviction. As Sigma had pointed out, none of them bore his mark. The hard core of the Mavericks, like Stiles himself, tended to see them as expendable chaff. There were always more like them. Believers, on the other hand... there were fewer of them, so the Mavericks lavished their attention (and resources) on this elite. It was a sign of how important this mission was that Sigma had sent Stiles to ensure Green Cell didn't fail.

Which they surely would, regardless of how clever they were. He wondered if they realized that. But if they could grab enough attention, they would give Stiles the chance to clean up their mess.

That was a big 'if'.

Frustrated for the moment, Stiles began to circle the building, looking for anything he could parlay to advantage.

* * *

"Ma'am," X said without vocalizing. It wasn't trivial to cross-connect his internal transmitter to the public phone network- but it wasn't too hard, either, especially for someone who'd laid the groundwork in advance.

He heard a heavy breath on the other end. "I'm impressed. Not only did you get my number, you got the one that goes straight to my desk. You bypassed the front office. How... efficient."

X didn't answer, choosing instead to wait. In his mind, he pictured her brow tightening slightly. Haley Paschal's expressions were so subtle even X's modeling programs struggled at times. She was probably a superb poker player. She'd chosen, instead, to go into government... and now was in charge of the Office of Reploid Relations.

The Office that, through a few layers of bureaucracy, held the leash of the Maverick Hunters.

At last she went on. "I won't ask how you got the number, and I'm sure you know it will have to be changed now, so let's skip past all that. Why are you calling?"

"Why did you pick Zero to kill Keillor?"

"Who's Keillor?" He detected no hint of duplicity, but, given that she was a professional politician, that didn't mean none was there.

"Reploid Gandhi."

"Reploid Gandhi," she replied, slowly. "History never was my strong suit. Please explain."

X wanted to call convoluted nonsense. It would have been rude. He elected to lean on his patience. "Gandhi was a lawyer by training, but he became a practicing political philosopher. He started and led a nonviolent resistance movement. His work peacefully ended British rule of India."

"That's a pretty generous comparison you've made for this... Keillor."

"That depends, doesn't it? There are plenty of people who saw Gandhi as absurd, and many more who saw him as a threat. The British certainly wished they could have killed him before he became too dangerous to kill."

A humming sound. "So, I'm the British in your little analogy?"

"You tell me," X replied.

Pause. "How much control do I have over you?" she asked conversationally.

X was fortunate she couldn't see him blanch. "That's a loaded question if ever I heard one."

"Less than you think. How much control do you think I have over _any_ individual in the Office of Reploid Relations?"

"And yet those individuals speak with your voice," X pointed out. "They wield your authority. Or rather, they have authority that you give them."

"Are you trying to get some individuals fired? That's awfully petty of you."

"I'm seeking to understand," X said, affecting modesty. "I want to know if their judgements are final, or if there's a place for discretion. I want to know, if there's ever a disagreement between them and you, if there's any wiggle room. Any possibility of change."

"If this was purely hypothetical, you wouldn't be calling me like this. The urgency means... it applies right now. You don't want to kill Keillor."

X was almost relieved- when she chose to cut to the heart of the matter, it was with admirable sharpness. "It's more like, I want to know if I _must_ kill Keillor."

"Is he a declared Maverick?"

"Yes."

"Are you a Maverick Hunter?"

Not by preference, X thought, but he chose to keep his reply simple. "Yes."

"Then I don't understand why we're still having this conversation," she said in stacatto tones.

That stung- or was she just testing his resolve? "Ma'am, do you remember what I told you when I turned down a position in your government? What my reason was for remaining a field-grade Hunter?"

Her answer was prompt. "So that you could have personal control over who lives and dies, by being the one who chooses whether or not he pulls the trigger."

"That's right," said X, impressed again with her memory. "You had to expect that, sooner or later, I'd choose to exercise that control."

"Just because? Just to be contrary?"

"There's a reason this Hunt came to Zero," X said. "Specifically to him. He has a reputation, you see. A reputation for being sudden death. For being the quickest, surest, most efficient Hunter. He does take joy in that. Of course, it's easy to misinterpret a love of combat for a love of killing."

"X," Haley began, but X gave her no opening.

"Sixth Squad was already on-site, and they were called off so that Zero could be put on the Hunt. That's very strange, especially when 0th Squad's firepower isn't needed for this Hunt. It's overkill for this threat profile. If our dispatchers were that sloppy or inefficient, they'd be taken out of the rotation for retraining. But no- it was all about ensuring that Zero was the lead Hunter. Someone absolutely wanted this to be a no-questions-asked Hunt. All the more reason we should question it."

"You're going to make me very defensive in a moment, robot."

X knew a warning when he heard one. "I'm not implying that there's some sort of conspiracy. I'm saying that the idea of Reploid Gandhi made someone very uncomfortable. It's hard to imagine a non-violent Maverick. So your subordinates took measures to make it easy to think about again. To smooth out the hard thinking."

"And here you are, looking to perpetuate the hard thinking."

"That's not my intent," X said with a surge of guilt. "Not for its own sake, I mean. But it's a price I'm willing to pay, if it means doing this right."

"Define 'right'."

X couldn't. "I want to talk to Keillor," he said instead. "I want time to listen to him."

"What does that get you? It sounds like you already have your mind made up."

That hit too close to home. X stopped, trying to think of how to reply.

Haley spoke again to fill the vacuum. "If you've already decided to let him go, just say so."

"It's not about letting him go. He won't go anywhere, that's the whole problem."

"Semantics. Don't change the subject."

"I want to evaluate whether or not he's a threat to peace," X said, carefully. "That's why I became a Maverick Hunter, after all. The Mavericks broke the peace, and I responded. But if he's not a threat to break the peace..."

"You don't want to be the first to break it."

"I won't be," X said confidently.

It was Haley's turn to pause. X glanced around self-consciously. No, no one else could hear this conversation, not that he was enunciating anyway. But this still felt like he had to hide, as if...

A quotation occurred to him: The guilty flee when no man pursueth. Did he already know he was wrong? Was this his cognitive dissonance flaring up?

"The charter of the Maverick Hunters," Haley said, slowly, "is to uphold the Three Laws of Robotics. You don't get to selectively enforce, any more than a policeman can choose to not enforce human law."

X was afraid of this. This was a sort of thinking that picked up its own momentum. "I understand that," he said, trying to turn the rock before it gathered too much speed. "There's no way he's not a Maverick. Legally. There's a pretty clear "shall" in the Three Laws that he's opposing. But... the punishment should match the crime. We have to acknowledge that there's a difference between him and Vile."

"And what if there is?" Haley said.

"Then we should treat them differently," said X, desperation tinging his voice. "Peaceful non-compliance just can't be as sinister as gleeful mass-murder."

Haley sighed, audibly. X wondered what it meant- tried hard to interpolate based on what had been said, where the conversation had gone-

"What if I told you..." she began. "No. What if I ordered you to execute Keillor for Maverickism?"

X's insides squirmed. "I would reply that, based on what I know, doing so would likely cause more harm than good. The damage to human-reploid relations from killing a non-violent reploid would be disproportionate to his danger. In which case, killing him would result in net harm to humans- and the First Law trumps the Second."

"Are you _sure_ you haven't already made up your mind?"

X blushed. "There's a lot to be gained by talking to him. I want to understand what he's trying to accomplish, and why."

"So that you can decide whether or not to kill this Maverick."

X's lips tightened. "I think we need to find a way to separate the Maverick organization from..."

"From your everyday, nonaligned homicidal reploid?"

"Keillor is not..." X spoke reflexively, but had to stop himself. He didn't have enough information to be authoritative. "Keillor does not appear homicidal."

"That's not comforting. This is a reploid that has already shown a willingness to break the Second Law. Clearly he thinks he's above the Three Laws- he can imagine a reason it's okay for him to break them. How can I, in good faith, tell the people I'm protecting them from Law-breaking reploids if I suffer him to live?"

"I don't know," X admitted.

"That's the dilemma you've put me in, X."

"I know," he said, pained. "But... he's breaking the Laws while keeping to the spirit of them. Non-violence is a principle that keeps with the First Law. There has to be a way to acknowledge that. Some way to uphold the Laws and still treat this one as he deserves."

"How?"

There was nothing for it. "I don't know."

"You. Don't. Know."

X had no words.

"There's a human expression. You might have heard of it. It's called, 'having your cake and eating it, too'. I don't know what a robot analogue would be. Refreshing your lubricant without changing it, maybe?"

"I get the idea." X looked up, as if answers were written somewhere, if he could only see them, find them... "I know what you want me to do. I know the reasons you want me to, and they're good reasons. But... I'm just not ready to kill him."

"If you talk to him, will you kill him afterwards?"

"Maybe." X sim-swallowed. "Probably not."

"And I should keep you on the Hunt because...?"

"Because if there's any justice to be found here," X said, earnestly, "I'm the only one who can find it."

"And you want permission to look." The next pause was the longest yet. "In that case, I will give you a different order. For the sake of humanity, uphold the Three Laws."

X wanted to say, "But I have to, regardless..." but he didn't, and just in time. He sighed in relief. "Yes, ma'am."

"One more thing."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Gandhi probably wouldn't have succeeded without Nehru- without a like-minded counterpart who could work inside the system. Food for thought."

Before X could reset his jaw, Haley hung up on him.

* * *

When would the explosions start? Maria needed an answer to that question. None was forthcoming.

So frustrating. Things weren't going how they were supposed to. How was she supposed to sell the narrative when the narrative wasn't playing along?

Two hours in and _still_ no explosions. And now even the slow stations had reporters on scene. There was Channel 5 News at 11, and there was Channel 3 Live, which the other reporters liked to jokingly call Channel 3 Dead because they were so slow to respond and most of their viewers lived in nursing homes. Even the journalism students from Nod University had gotten to the scene. All in all there were so many reporters there was a sort of newsvan barricade outside of the official barricade. Getting a scoop at this point was going to be close to impossible. The best Maria could do was stay even with the pack. This did not suit her one bit.

And things were taking so long to develop the studio hadn't called back to her at all. Usually when a Maverick incident was live she had near-unimpeded access to the airwaves. Now? They were probably airing a _game show_ , for crying out loud. Or whatever their regularly scheduled programming was.

Just one explosion, please? A little one would be enough.

There! Movement. The mass of reporters was surging towards part of the barricade. Maria wormed her way through, trying to get eyes-on.

She needn't have bothered. Soon people were parting out of the way so that a van could rumble through.

One of the Hunter vans, Maria realized with a start.

What the _hell_?

Who sent Hunters _away_ from an active Maverick incident? Especially before the explosions started. If the explosions had already started, it would have meant the Mavericks were dead and they were into the clean-up. She knew that story. Before the explosions, though... there was no precedent for that.

She looked into the cab of the van as it passed. Nope. Not X's squad. Few of the reporters knew all the Maverick Hunters by sight, but most knew at least a few members of 0th and 17th Squads. Maria didn't recognize anyone in the van.

Well, that meant X was still on-site, at least. So they weren't disengaging, and their best fighters were still there. Good. That meant there was at least a hope for explosions later on.

She tried to take solace in that notion.

* * *

X's fist was raised before the door. It was hard to knock. He tried, he did, but it was so hard.

What was he going to say, anyway?

He grabbed his wrist with his other hand and forced himself to knock.

"Is that you again, Maverick Hunter X?"

"Why do you call me that?" X said, closing his eyes.

"It's accurate," Keillor replied. "That's what you are."

"It's not all I am," X replied. "It's one of the things I am. Most of my life has been outside the Maverick Hunters."

"That's how we know you, though."

"Who's 'we'?"

"The general reploid population."

"See, I always have trouble when people talk like that," X said. "Anytime someone presumes to speak for a group, my first thought is, 'How do you know that's what the group thinks?'"

A chuckle came back. "Okay, fine. There are a bunch of reploids I've talked to about my ideas, and they all know you as Maverick Hunter X. You're the great hero, right? The Avenging Angel. The super fighting robot. The defender of humanity."

All the terms, X knew, that the media had used to describe him. The human media. They crafted narratives for the benefit of human audiences... and the reploids saw. "I didn't ask that they call me those things," he said quietly.

"They do describe you. Or would you like to deny them?"

"I never was crazy about Avenging Angel," X allowed. "I thought the only reason for that one was that Zero was called the Red Demon. Those people saw me as the yang to Zero's yin. Angel, demon... Symmetry. People like complete sets."

"Fair enough," Keillor said graciously. "The rest of those names, though? Defender of Humanity? Great hero? Maverick Hunter?"

X frowned. "What, are we going to go through each one of those to examine whether or not they fit?"

"If you want me to think you're some other person. I'm just a poor common reploid, not one of the heroic Maverick Hunters. All I know is what I see on tee vee."

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

After a moment, Keillor admitted, "Yeah, I suppose that's true."

"Is that what you expected?"

"It's what I'd hoped."

"Hope is not a strategy." He sighed. "Keillor, there are a lot of people out there who'd just as soon kill you if given the slightest excuse. There's a lot of fear of Mavericks out there. Even a well-intentioned... no, I was about to use... probably the wrong word."

"Passive resistor?"

"Sure," X said. "We'll go with that. Passive resistor. But passive resistance is still resistance. And people associate resistance with Maverickism."

"Is it your turn to speak for groups, then?"

"I don't need to. The fact that the Maverick Hunters were called over something like this speaks for itself. People don't know any other way to react."

Keillor considered this. "So... I'm dead?"

"I hope not," X said earnestly.

"What'll determine it?"

X looked at his hands- and through his hands, to the busters beneath. "You and I need to work together," X said. "To find a way to... to uphold the Three Laws, _and_ forgive you for not following them. Or, if we don't uphold the Laws exactly, then at least honor what the Laws are supposed to do."

"Keep humanity safe."

"Yes."

"Is what I'm doing dangerous?"

X sighed. He hadn't had to discuss this with Haley Paschal. There was a common understanding at their level- one reploids probably didn't grasp. "Are you familiar with the concept of the 'slippery slope'?"

"You like these little... mind toys, I guess I'd call them."

"I'll take that as a no," X said. It was an expression closer to human experience that most reploids'. "If you're standing at the top of a slope, and you're not moving, it's easy not to slide down. But if you take a step, you risk losing traction. If you lose traction, you begin to slide. Then you take another step, but you lose ground when you do. And at any time you might fall and slide all the way to the bottom. Another way to explain it would be, "One thing leads to another". If you don't want the result, you have to not even start the process."

"Let me see if I can guess where you're going," Keillor replied. "I'm saying, I may have broken the Second Law, but I won't break the First. And people are thinking, Well, he broke the Second Law, he must be ready to break the First, so let's treat him as if he broke the First. Is that about right?"

"That is exactly it," X said.

"That's not what you think, though."

X didn't reply at first. He was looking at his hands, and at the busters beneath, and now even deeper, into a machine capable of growth, into a warning that came with that machine, and into the thought process that birthed that warning.

"I," X said, quietly, "more than anyone else, could never judge someone on potential alone."

Keillor didn't reply.

"I wish I could see your face," X said. "So much of communication is lost when it's just words. I want to see you, if we're really going to understand each other."

"You know I can't do that, X. Opening this door... That's my slippery slope."

"Is it really, though? The door's just shut to keep people from moving you. But I don't want to move you, and if you open it then we can work together."

"I don't think we can."

X was taken aback. "You don't? Why not?"

"Because of one of your titles. Hero."

"I never said I was a hero," X said.

"Other people think you are, though. And that's the crux of it. You're supposed to emulate heroes, aren't you? You're supposed to be inspired by them, and act like them. That won't work for me, X. It's not enough. You can't be my hero."

"I'm..." He staggered, confused. "I didn't ever say I was a hero. I think that I've made some good choices, but I've also made plenty of mistakes. Bad ones, some of them. I'd be... deeply uncomfortable if other people tried to follow my example. The... the whole point of me- of our kind- is to be a race that can make decisions and choices on our own."

"Constrained by the Second Law, you mean."

X pretended not to hear. "I mean, I like to think I've been taking moral actions, or have had morality at the core of my actions, and I'd hope that others would be like that... but not because that's how I am. I'd want them to act like that because it's the right thing to do."

"That's not how you're marketed, though. This is the sticking point, X. You still kill people."

"Only those who break the peace," X said, defensively.

"Oh, so that's okay then."

"It's not 'okay', I don't like it, I wish there were another way..."

"Don't you see? This is what I realized. As long as we think there's any good reason for killing people, we'll be able to let ourselves do it. You called that cognitive dissonance, I think? Killing is wrong, but I killed this person, therefore killing has to be right. No. Killing can never be right, or that's the slippery slope again. That's what I'm trying to say by doing this. That's why you're wrong, X. That's why we can't work together."

X laughed.

"Why are you laughing?!"

"It's not what you think," X said, his voice light. "It's just... you have no idea how often I've been called the soft one, and then to hear those words from you... we're a lot closer than you believe."

"We are?"

"Oh, yes. You don't know how hard it was for me to become a Hunter in the first place. That's why it's absolutely important that we figure out how to do this. If your idea is adopted, it reduces fear, it's anathema to the Mavericks, it opens up non-lethal options for the Hunters, it counters the slippery slope argument and the slippery slope itself... a lot of good can come from this."

"You really think so?" said Keillor, dubious.

"Of course! The Three Laws are constrictive, they're limiting, but without having some guarantor of robot behavior humans are too fearful to live with us. If we have living, demonstrable proof of robot non-violence without the Three Laws, we can break that dilemma. Keillor, I know you were ready to be killed to prove your point. As far as you were concerned, your death would be the ultimate vindication. It would prove to everyone that the Hunters could convince themselves to kill anyone and be righteous about it. You were prepared. But I want to change your plans. I'm going to ask something much harder of you. I want you to live for your ideals."

"...how?"

"I don't know," X said giddily. "Why don't we figure this out together?"

* * *

Finally!

"Camera up," Maria hissed. "Studio, he's coming up, if you're ever going to go live, now's the time."

"Going live in fifteen seconds."

Maria gave herself a once over- hair, outfit, mic, all good- before angling herself so that she and X would both be in the picture.

"And... live."

"Our own Maria Pritchard is on-scene. Maria, what can you tell us?"

Showtime. Flashing a brief smile, Maria said, "Well, the 17th has been on-scene for a while now. Although we haven't seen much evidence of the fighting from out here, we can be sure there was plenty of it, because X is only now emerging. He looks..." Maria frowned. "He looks unscathed... so I'm guessing the battle against the Maverick was a slow one of the cat-and-mouse type. He's talking with the police now... And here he comes to make his statement."

Maria stepped back to let the camera zoom in on the Maverick Hunter. She turned so that she could see and hear him, too. He looked reluctant, tentative. Maria disapproved of that. It wasn't a good look for a hero. It seemed like he really wanted to say something but was having trouble with it. At last he steeled himself. Maria signaled the soundman to reposition to catch it best.

That's when she finally got the explosion she was waiting for.

Unfortunately, it was her news van that detonated.

* * *

Finally!

Stiles looked over from his vantage point. The explosion was... a news van? Verdigris, the news vans were right in front of the target! How was that a diversion? The Hunters could engage without having to move. His already low opinion of Green Cell managed to drop further.

Well, so long as they gave him his opening, it really didn't matter how stupid they were about the rest. A little bit of distraction would go a long way.

Quick as a wink, Stiles shed the vest he'd used for camouflage, detached the extra plating that had made him look brighter and less Maverick-y, and bolted into motion.

* * *

X's words- the ones he'd been burning to finally say- died unsaid. He started in surprise at the explosion, and then he was in motion, too experienced and trained to be stunned for long.

He leapt over the heads of the rapidly-ducking reporters, policemen, employees, and bystanders. He touched down next to the burning news van. Placing his hands under the side of the frame, he hefted upwards- and after a moment it succumbed to his strength. Up it went on to its side, putting the fire away from the people who'd be burned. X's gaze began to stray to the people who'd been closest to the explosion- but no, no time for that sort of wallowing.

"17th, we have Mavericks outside," he barked over his transmitter. "Reverse your facing and move to the doorway. Cover the collaterals."

"Sir," said Gab, the team's phone-talker.

And to think he'd sent the 6th Squad away! It had made sense at the time. They hadn't been needed for this, and he hadn't wanted to tie down more Hunters than necessary...

He swapped circuits. "Dispatch, X, new Maverick activity outside Hutchinson's, numbers unknown, request reinforcement, recommend activating reserves."

"Roger. Sixth Squad is still in your area, ETA four minutes."

The next news van in the arc exploded.

"Tell them to hurry," X said drily. He went over to the next van to flip it as he had the first. Another circuit swap. "Gab, are you in position?"

"Setting up now."

New sound- fire alarm. From the building. X spared a look in that direction. A mobile barricade was beginning to appear in the entryway to the building. Soon, he knew, weapon muzzles would appear over the top of it. The first would be the muzzle of a heavy laser, manned by the section's best gunner. Next would come a standard-issue buster for point defense, and then a scope for range-finding and targeting. When it was done that position would be able to hold against...

Buster fire erupted from across the street, pelting the remaining vans. X returned fire immediately. Priority one was to reduce the ability of the Mavericks to inflict damage. Containment first. The Mavericks were firing from a building across the street from Hutchinson's. Second story... third story?

Several more long-ranged shots from X seemed to quiet them for a moment. Judging from the blown-out windows, maybe second _and_ third stories. Motion...

The instincts of a combat veteran started him moving; the lightning reflexes of a combat robot made the motions effective. He was back behind the van before the buster shots began to impact his former position. He looked up in alarm. Not that the van would be good cover for very long. X was trying to think of some way to reinforce it when he heard a nasty hissing sound.

The sound was the primary evidence of what was happening. There was, after all, no visible beam. But when a heavy laser sliced and sublimated its way through things, well, the sound of it was memorable.

The buster fire ceased immediately. X knew why. No cover stood for long against a laser of that caliber. The Mavericks would have to reposition to keep themselves safe, obscure their motions... and not shoot.

"This way!" X hollered. He grabbed a few of the humans and hauled them to their feet. "Follow me, get away from the shooting! Anyone who can stand!"

He dashed for the southern end of the arc of vans. He pushed obstacles out of the way- including part of a barricade, a news van, and an unfortunate parking meter- to clear a path. The boldest of the humans followed. Those he'd helped up were first. More flocked along, and soon there was a whole stream of them escaping from the killing field.

"Come around the side," X said, leading them further on. To the side of the building, use the whole thing for cover. "Stay..."

His voice caught, failed to vocalize. A reploid was coming out of a sliced-open door. It was holding something sharp-looking in its hands.

"Dispatch, report Sixth Squad," X said.

"Deploying now."

The reploid noticed the people coming. It turned away from them and bent into a lunge that morphed into a dash.

X obeyed his instinct to chase. "Civilians evacuated as best we can," he reported. "Priorities one and two met. Shifting to priority three."

"Understood."

X accelerated and began charging a shot in his right arm. Priority three: engage and destroy the Maverick threat.

"Stop!" he shouted.

The Maverick was diving through the normal business traffic of the city. Too thick for X to shoot into. The Maverick was making excellent time. It was darting between cars, now plowing down a sidewalk- X gritted his teeth as he saw two humans knocked from their feet. He had to stop this, but there was too much risk, too many collaterals along his firing axis-

X looked up. They were approaching an intersection. Maybe if... yes, the Maverick turned, trying to get out of sight. X didn't turn immediately. He banked very widely, then heaved himself up with his boosters. He planted his feet against the side of a building between two windows and pushed off with all his might. Up, up into the air. And now there weren't people between him and the Maverick- just open air and the ground beneath. Even a miss would be safe.

Don't miss! he said to himself, and let fly at full power.

The oversized plasma bolt was a hammer blow to the Maverick's back. He stumbled off his feet as he'd started to turn. Smack! A hard impact against the concrete side of a parking garage.

X landed heavily, close by the Maverick, and raised his buster just as the Maverick scrambled to its feet. X took no chances. That shot would have torn most reploids in half. For a Maverick to move that fast, and yet withstand a max-power X-buster shot, meant it was a capable Maverick indeed.

"What?" snarled the Maverick. "Not going to give me a chance to surrender?"

That made X start. "I see Sigma's mark on you," he said, eyes lighting on the stylized Greek letter emblazoned on the Maverick's shoulder. "I guess I assumed you wouldn't."

The Maverick slid two dagger-like weapons into its hands. "You assumed right. Sigmaaaa!"

Into the air the Maverick leapt. X's shot sailed below, and still did what it had to do. It was the Strike Chain. The head of the weapon embedded into the concrete, then came taut, and pulled X forward.

The Maverick flailed, trying to abort an attack on a target no longer there. A medium-power buster shot caught him in the back, knocked him down. His hand swung about.

X had been about to speak again when one of the Maverick's daggers came flying at him. It tore a furrow into the top level of his arm- no deeper than the armor, more from inaccuracy than lack of power- X classified its threat as mortal, and reacted to the threat. A Spinning Wheel dropped neatly into the smoldering hole in the Maverick's back armor, and bit.

The screeching was awful. The silence that followed was almost worse.

Still tense, X approached, buster up. It didn't take him long to realize the Maverick was lifeless.

He lowered his buster, slowly; combat mode was still fully engaged and its paranoia was healthy at times like these. Now able to widen his focus, X tried to make sense of his location. Three blocks away from Hutchinson's. Almost like the Maverick was trying to get away from-

X was dashing before the thought completed. Careless, careless, he hadn't linked up with Sixth, he'd just trusted they'd cover it, but they'd come from the north and he'd led the collaterals south...

"Gab, report," he transmitted.

"We're holding," Gab sent back. "Sixth Squad has almost completed their sweep of that building. Multiple Mavericks down."

"What about the collaterals?"

"...what about them?"

No, no, no, this long they could all be-

But they weren't. X came around the corner to see a street full of idly milling reporters, Hutchinson's employees, and so on. Some of them were shaken and roughed up, but X guessed that was from the explosions of the vans rather than anything that had happened since. So what was the Maverick trying to lure him away from?

No... the Maverick hadn't been luring. It really had been trying to escape. It had been genuinely surprised.

Surprised to see X there, and not inside? This was one of Sigma's loyalists, one of those that were very real threats to X. If it had fought him inside, in the closed-in environment of the building, well, it was built for short-ranged combat. It would have put X in mortal peril. So said tactical.

X frowned as he walked towards the door. Sliced open- that was what those daggers could do. Consistent with the level of power that would be needed to assassinate X. And with all of those news vans, it was no mystery that X was there.

Something... didn't quite fit right. That didn't make sense either. If the mission was to assassinate X, the Maverick would have whirled on X immediately, not tried to disengage and flee. X looked at the door more closely. It had no handles. No way to open from the outside. It was only ever supposed to open from the inside, that was why the Maverick had to force it. What kind of door-

A fire escape.

Which initiated a fire alarm.

Apprehension grew in X as he looked up. He could see well into the interior of Hutchinson's. He walked inside. Where would the Maverick have gone? Would it have known where X was? No. It didn't care where X was. The fire alarm had gone off after the attack had begun, but there was no fire inside the building- the fires were all outside, from the news vans. The fire alarm was from the door being opened. And all of that had happened after X had already emerged to give the press conference.

They would have seen he wasn't inside. They would have known. But they didn't care, because he hadn't been the target at all.

 _There are a bunch of other reploids I've talked to about my ideas..._

X's feet flew, moving as quickly as he could indoors.

 _Killing can never be right._

Turn, turn- there was Keillor's door, torn open, pieces of it spilling into the room it had sealed.

 _If your idea is adopted, it reduces fear..._

X moved into the room, buster up, fully combat ready.

 _...it's anathema to the Mavericks..._

It was too late. Far, far too late.

 _...anathema to the Mavericks..._

Keillor's chest had been carved open. It was the sort of performance, tactical noted, that the Maverick's daggers would exhibit.

The Mavericks had completed their mission after all. They'd assassinated Keillor.

* * *

That evening, the news channels were all abuzz with the same story. A brutal Maverick attack at Hutchinson's Electronics had endangered humans; the Mavericks were trying to suppress accurate news reporting. Luckily, Maverick Hunter X had been there, and through his usual heroism had prevented any innocent deaths. Some news crews were injured, but they would be fine, and that's what mattered.

That evening, the reploid grapevine was abuzz with the same story. A non-violent reploid had declared that he would break the Second Law, but not the First. The humans had called the Hunters on him for that. Now he was dead.

Both stories were false, of course. And both were true.

* * *

It was late. Zero was ready to go to his recharge tube, but X was worth waiting for. The android was tied down with his post-Hunt paperwork, which Zero usually off-loaded on poor Rekir. X never could keep a deputy- they kept getting killed in hits targeting X himself.

At last the door to the Squad Leaders' common room opened. X's helmet was off, tucked under his arm. He looked exhausted. That wasn't unexpected, Zero supposed.

"I hear you had some action," Zero said, trying to make conversation. "If I'd known there would be real fighting, I'd have kept the Hunt for myself."

"Zero!" said X, his voice manifest pain. His eyes were watering and wrought with anguish. "Why would you..."

He didn't finish, and Zero was taken aback, bewildered. He could see he'd done something wrong, but he hadn't the first inkling what.

X swept a hand down his face. "I'm going to recharge," he said. "I have to dream on this."

He brushed past Zero. Zero tried hard to think of something to say, but the word 'sorry' never seemed to stick in his dictionary. "Dream... well?" he tried.

"I don't deserve to," X said. He closed the door to his room so that he could be alone with his failure.

* * *

 _Fin_


End file.
